


wish you were here (a collection of homestuck oneshots)

by aceless



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Sad Dave Strider, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 13:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16285532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceless/pseuds/aceless
Summary: A collection of one shots- Mainly focused on the Striders.Lots of angst. Most of this is angst because I'm sad.





	wish you were here (a collection of homestuck oneshots)

Among the cracked 1969 David Bowie vinyls and shredded job applications was a useless pile of flesh. At first glance, one would think he was dead; his eyes shut tight, his breathing stagnant. The stubble of cigarette resting in his hand, still smoking, gently singeing his fingertips. Never enough to make the resting soul flinch, merely the tickle of a feather on his heavily calloused hands. From years of desperately clinging to the rough handles of swords for his life and screwing up his body in a more general sense, it would only make sense that the young sixteen year old would adapt to have tough skin. Supposedly it ran in the family, too, but he'd never know since the knowledge of his ancestry only dated back to his Bro, the singular previous generation.

Among the hellaciously ironic posters of Ben Stiller starring in There's Something About Mary--an unironic cult classic, he thought--and the autographed portrait of Billie Joe Armstrong was a cable holding up a vast array of photos. Some were unbelievably shitty selfies, others were decent group photos or a few distinct pictures of crows. Despite the terrible exposure or slight grain at first glance, each photo held it's own memory in his heart. And despite the low resolution after printing each one, he still hung them all up in a neat row above his window. Call it what you will, but he saw the collection as a coping method. Every time he came home, there'd be smiling faces of all his friends there to greet him. Maybe there was no cure, but at the very least, he could assuage that internal dread of being at home.

Among the soundboards and cinder blocks securely piled up in the corner was his prized turntable. His Bro had found it all banged up for cheap, and as if by miracle, the boy with hardly any mechanical experience was able to fix it. Sure, it still had its flaws; sometimes the white noise would drown out the music or the needle would hitch and result in an abrupt distortion, but for the most part it played perfectly. In his case, it was convenient. He'd found a box of his Bro's old vinyls a while back, and ever since then the house was never completely quiet unless his Bro was home. He had dug through said box earlier in desperation for something--anything--to play. What now was playing softly in the background was Shine On You Crazy Diamond from his favorite Pink Floyd album, Wish You Were Here. It set the mood in his room perfectly: gloomy and somber in a face of ignorance. The needle scratched away at the old material, the white noise underlying the instrumentals as if rain was falling outside. However, this was Texas. White noise would have to do.

_Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun  
Shine on you crazy diamond...._

Dave had no idea how he got here. One second it was all fun and games, the next it was falling back to drugs. One moment he held the world in the palm of his hand, the next he was crushed by it. He supposed it was typical for everything to change as he got older, but he was only sixteen. His birthday was merely a week and a half ago, too. As far as he knew, most sixteen-year-olds didn't have charges of shoplifting and underage drinking. Then again, he only knew three other sixteen-year-olds better than waving when you pass them in the halls. Those three happened to be his only friends; had been for the past five years, would be for the next eternity.

Dave knew he had a lot of issues. The fact that he was lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, and smoking while Pink Floyd brought tears to his cold, dead eyes was enough for him to know. He always detested homeless people on the streets for panhandling and not getting off their asses and fixing their shit, but in reality, Dave was exactly like that. Feeding off his Bro's success like a leech, then doing absolutely nothing to repay him. He had two years to get his own shit together before Bro would kick him out, and if he didn't then he was sure he'd become one of the homeless people himself.

_Now there's a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky  
Shine on you crazy diamond...._

There were some things Dave had rarely thought about, such as abuse or his past in its all-magnificent glory. He was more concerned about his future and the legality of his actions at this point. To everyone's surprise, he was a straight A student, the highest grades being in his AP English class. And even more surprising yet, despite his classy punk aesthetic and slight substance addiction, he was nowhere near a rebel. Anyone who thought that behind those shades were eyes of aggression and malice were wrong. Maybe it was the weed, or maybe it was just his personality, but he never had the desire to do anything destructive.

He still had his downfalls. Among other things, drugs and alcohol were becoming a problem. He hated it. He hated himself for it. With the recent gang activity near his neighborhood, he just sort of got... looped into it, for lack of a better word. He wasn't in any gang, in fact he thought they were evil for selling drugs to kids. Unfortunately, he had been a victim of such barbarity. He didn't want to, but he thought he would die if he went too long without it. That was the disgusting reality of this world, he believed. People would do anything for money, even something so cruel as manipulating children for it. Dave thought about becoming a cop to stop it, but at the same time he doubted that he'd be accepted after having a mild criminal record at sixteen.

_You were caught on the crossfire of childhood and stardom  
Blown on the steel breeze...._

Dave knew he was a mess. He knew that if his friends found out, they'd either abandon him or force him into therapy, neither of which he desired. He knew he needed help, but he was afraid. Being pushed into a hurricane with the little sense of balance he had was dangerous, and he thought it would be more hurtful than beneficial. Dave knew he had potential, tons of it. He just had to get past these dilemmas before he could fulfill it entirely.

_Come on you target for faraway laughter  
Come on you stranger, you legend, you martyr, and shine...._

Before he knew it, there was only white noise. He threw what was left of his cigarette out the window and into the alley below. He had made his decision.

He lifted the needle, set the record off to the side, and started searching around his desk. 3 grams of weed, a pack of cigarettes, and a small bottle of low proof vodka. Call it wasted money. Call it what you will. He called it saving himself.

All of it, out the window. The clatter of glass was audible from the highest floor of the apartment building. He knew the only people who went back there were the gang stoners. He hoped they all died from alcohol poisoning. Or shot up too much heroin. The world would undoubtedly be better off without them.

Normally Dave wouldn't wish death upon anyone, but this was a special case. Normally Dave wouldn't make such rash decisions, but this was an exception. He'd deal with the druggies later, but for now, he had a life to fix.

Shine on you crazy diamond, shine on.


End file.
